A Favour
by aceupthesleeve
Summary: Isabela's favour is finalizing the end of Hawke and Fenris' relationship. Ander's favour is making Hawke realize who the real problem is. Hawke's favour is forgiving Isabela. Fenris' favour is worn around his wrist, and Hawke wants it back.
1. Isabela's Favour

A Favour

Chapter 1 - Isabela's Favour

Fenris was a good bluff. You learn something new everyday, apparently. He wasn't, however, a very interesting drunk. I could barely tell the difference between broody sober Fenris, and broody drunk Fenris. Unless you squinted really hard, maybe. He does have a bit of a flush to his cheeks, if you look really hard for it.

Fenris was nursing a drink, the number of which I had lost count of earlier in the night, seizing up his hand of cards with a look of utter disinterest on his face. Either he had a terrible hand, or he really was a better bluff than I had initially given him credit for.

I lower my hand below the tabletop casually, pretending to study them intently, stroking my chin in mock contemplation. Gently, I pull the card of choice from the temporary adhesive below the table, swapping it out for a not-so-savory one.

I push a small pile of coins into the ante that sits in the middle of the table with a boastful smile. I level my gaze confidently, seizing up my playmates. Hawke throws her hands into the air in exasperation, fueling the smile that spreads across my face.

"I give up. I don't have coins just lying around waiting to be gambled away like you seem to, Isabela," she throws my way, sighing dramatically.

"Sweet thing," I drawl with a tilt of my head. "I have coins to spare for this game, because I'm _good _at this game."

Varric snorts to my right. "Good at _cheating, _would be a might more accurate. But then again, who am I to waggle my finger, when I'm the king of turning the odds in my favour?" He meets my bet, before rocking back in his rickety chair, hands resting casually behind his head, a roguish smile on his lips.

"Here, here," I raise my mug in a salute, grinning broadly.

Ander's is next to throw down his hand with a tired sigh.

"What's the point of playing when everyone else is cheating?" he asks nobody in particular. "I know when to call it a night."

Without wasting any time, he pushes himself up from the small table with a nod, collecting his jacket from the back of his chair. I don't miss the small squeeze he gives Marian's shoulder in farewell, a small smile brightening his features momentarily. The woman is question pauses halfway through explaining something to Merrill, offers an absentminded farewell to the mage, and then turns back to the lithe elf, picking up the conversation exactly where she had left it. Without another word, and a final glance in Hawke's direction, Ander's leaves the Hanged Man. Back to his clinic in Darktown, no doubt.

That man had no idea how to have fun.

At that thought, I can't help but frown. Then again, who was I to judge? Lately, _I _was having no fun. There were only so many interesting people in a city like Kirkwall. Now, if I had my ship back, I could travel to all kinds of interesting places, and meet all kinds of interesting people. Antiva was always a blast, perhaps Tevinter… My eyes roam to that of the tattooed elf that sits across from me, still intently observing his hand. Then again, why travel so far when all the exotic mystery of Tevinter had been delivered onto my very doorstep?

I moisten my lips with my tongue, smiling.

"So Fenris," I start, my voice low as I lean slightly across the table. My smile widens when I notice his eyes roam, ever so quickly, to my breasts. "What's a girl got to do to break that poker face, hmm?"

His eyes do not linger for long, snapping up to meet my own. I can't help but admire the deep green of them. After all, it's an insult not to appreciate an attractive specimen.

I lift my foot carefully, and begin running it gently against the inside of his thigh, as I offer him a wink. He jolts suddenly in his seat at my sudden attentions. A scowl darkens his face momentarily, and I almost catch a glimpse of his cards in his surprise. He is quick to regain his demeanor, however, shaking his head, a smirk chasing away his scowl. Without a word, he reaches below the table and holds my foot firmly within his hand. His eyes remain on my own, unblinking and stern. I raise my eyebrow at him in challenge, before he releases my foot. Silently, I return it to the floor.

The smirk still evident on his face, he pushes his small pile of coins into the middle of the table.

"All in, Broody?" Varric is just as surprised as I am, itching at his chin as he contemplates his hand. "That hardly seems wise."

I meet Fenris' bet with a smile. He has been betting sparingly up until this point. He probably feels uncomfortable and wants this game to be over as quickly as possible now. I've probably scared him off, I realize with a wistful sigh. Then, a grin takes hold upon a far more interesting possibility; then again, maybe he's trying to prove something. Oh, I hope he is. A man with something to prove always makes for an interesting night.

Hawke suddenly falls silent, eyeing the game with renewed interest. She raises a dark eyebrow at Fenris and then the remainder of his money. I chuckle at her disbelieving look. She doesn't believe he has a decent hand either, this move being so unlike Fenris' usual cautiousness. Resting her pale hands atop the old table, Hawke pushes herself up on her toes with a slight sway, trying to catch a look at the white haired elf's cards. Merrill's hand innocently rests upon Hawke's backside, ensuring that she does not topple over.

Fenris ignores her antics, eyes trained on my own in challenge.

"Alright then, Elf," Varric snorts through a chuckle, shaking his head.

I laught when he doesn't meet our bets, dramatically throwing his cards onto the table, face up for all to see with a shrug. He's got an average hand, nothing that you'd want to have a lot of money riding on, but it was something at least. More than what Fenris has got, I'm betting.

"I know when to call it quits," Varric states with a friendly grin.

Hawke snorts through a laugh at the dwarf's statement, still trying to get a peek of Fenris' cards. Her face is flush from a steady stream of drinks, and her blue eyes are not as sharp as they usually are.

"Who won?" Merrill queries Hawke quietly, eyes wide and taking everything in.

"Me," I confidently tell Merrill through a laugh, placing my cards upon the table with a flourish.

I have a decent enough hand, I guess, only barely better than Varric's own, but one that I know will be enough.

Fenris has got nothing on my cards, I repeat to myself.

The elf offers a small smirk, obviously feinting confidence in his own hand before placing his cards slowly out, one by one.

I feel my stomach tighten as each card falls and I begin to question myself when the cocky expression doesn't leave his face. Everybody is silent, staring at his hand.

He meets my eyes before he places the last card down for all to see.

I break the silence with a boastful laugh, banging a closed fist onto the table in glee.

"I knew it!" I exclaim in reply to his cards. "Nothing!"

He'd almost had me, the bastard.

Fenris merely shrugs in response, silent, but there is a wicked glint to his eyes; he was enjoying himself, despite his losses.

Varric's chuckle is deep, his shoulders rising and falling, "Figures," is all he says.

I pull the small pile of coins towards myself, before plucking them off of the table and placing them carefully into my pocket. I offer Fenris a friendly wink. He crosses his arms atop his chest and leans back comfortably in his chair.

My eyes fall to the empty wine glass on the table before him, and I smile. I know just what to do with my winnings.

"Come Fenris," I start, pushing myself out of my chair, patting my pocketed winnings happily. "You've earned yourself some drinks after that fine show of bluffing. Learning from the best, I see."

With a chuckle I make my way to the bar, raising my chin at Norah to get her attention. I pass closely behind Fenris, whom it seems is happy enough to stay seated, offering only a silent shake of his head and a small smile at my words. The excitement of the win, and Fenris' blatant challenge leave me confident to try something more. I lean towards his chair as I pass, running my fingers over the backrest, only a breath away from his back.

"You've earned yourself more than just some drinks," I offer, my voice soft and challenging, "If you're up for it."

He does not turn to face me straight away at my challenging tone, but I hear the deep rumble of a chuckle.

I smirk in reply to his receptive response and continue to the bar, adding a sway to my hips as I walk. My smile widens ever so slightly at the shrill sound of his chair pushing away from the table, audible even over the surrounding ruckus of the tavern.

As focused as I am on the sound of Fenris' feet on the tavern's floorboards, I do not notice the frown crease Hawke's brow, nor do I hear her sudden whisper of farewell to only Varric and Merrill, her eyes glancing quickly in Fenris' direction. It is only after Fenris and I finish our drinks, both competitively trying to down one before the other, that I notice Hawke is gone.

"This is what you classify as _wine_?" Fenris queries.

He casually wipes the offending liquid from his lips with a thumb.

I give up on my quick search of the tavern for my missing friend. She's probably long gone by now. I turn back to him with a smile, shaking my head clear of all worries for Hawke. I shall deal with her later, I decide resolutely. She's a big girl. I slowly lick my lips clean of the whiskey I had just downed, drawing out the simple motion and hoping to keep his attentions, lest he also notice Hawke's absence. That would probably put a damper on what I have planned for my night. Maybe my morning too.

"I have some imported wines in my room," I offer calmly. "Care to wet your lips with something sweeter than what this tavern has to offer?"

His eyes cut to mine sharply, catching the sultry tone to my voice. I let him appraise me, casually watching him from under long eyelashes.

He places the empty goblet back onto the bar and watches me expectantly.

"I would," is all he says.

Good. I never liked small talk.

Without a word I make my way to the stairs that lead up to my room for the night, not bothering to look back to check that he is following. They always follow. Fenris is no different.

Always tiptoeing around the topic of Hawke and Fenris' long finished relationship wasn't going to do her any favours. It's time she came to terms with it all. Hawke can be as mad at me as she likes. It will be worth it just to see how much of Fenris' body those tattoos really cover.

...

More to come soon. It's a four-part story through the eyes of those immediately involved. This was Isabela, next will be Anders, then Hawke, and finally Fenris.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.


	2. Anders' Favour

Chapter 2 – Anders' Favour

I knew the moment that she walked into my clinic. I saw her from the corner of my eye, and knew that sweep of short black hair and piercingly blue eyes anywhere. My chest constricted of its own accord at the excitement of seeing Hawke for the barest of moments, and I forced back a smile. I did not turn to greet her.

I focus all of my attention back to the elf before me.

She was petite, as all of her kind was, but for the bulging of her stomach that my hands now rested upon. She had been a beggar that frequented the streets of Darktown. I had passed her almost everyday, tossing a coin or whatever food I had at hand in her direction without a backwards glance. She had come to thank me but a few weeks ago, my charity having helped her present herself well enough for a position in a Hightowner's service, and a place in the city's alienage.

Thus had started our weekly meetings. I would offer her the assurance that her child grew, strong and healthy, passing on herbs to help with her own vitality. She would offer me her idealistic presence, watching me quietly with eyes filled with awe. She worshiped me, without shame, and I came to find I needed to feel wanted. Needed to feel as if I were still doing the right thing. For the right reasons.

Conscious of Hawke's eyes on my back, as she sat silently on one of my cots, I offer the soon-to-be mother a smile of assurance. The child was healthy. She clasps my hand in her much smaller ones, delicate and gentle. Her eyes glisten as she smiles warmly up at me. Without glancing back to note Hawke's reaction to this raw show of emotion, I give a low cough, shrugging with a crooked smile. She thanks me warmly as she pulls her cloak's hood over her head to protect her from the curious eyes of those that might mean her harm at this time of night, before leaving.

My back still turned to Hawke; I stretch slowly, pretending that I wasn't unbearably curious to ask what had brought her to see me at this time of the night. The last I had seen of her, she had been at the Hanged Man enjoying the company of her other companions. I had barely received a response from her when I had retired early, distracted as she was with a rendition of the day's events to Merrill.

When I do finally turn, with a small smile on my lips, I notice that she was not even watching me, as I had initially suspected. She sits with her back against the dank wall of the clinic, legs hanging lifelessly off the side of the cot. Her eyes are shut, and she looks almost peaceful.

The sun may have set hours ago, but it was still early for the likes of Isabela and Varric. Why was she not still with them? Had she been injured? Another bar brawl, perhaps? She hadn't seemed rowdy when I'd left. In fact, she had seemed perfectly content talking to Merrill with a wry grin upon her face.

"Is everything okay, Hawke?"

I silently evaluate her motionless form, searching for traces of any recent injuries. She looks well enough.

Lazily, Hawke pries her eyes open, tilting her head ever so slightly. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her cheeks have a rosy tinge to them that was uncommon for her. It seemed she had not slowed down in her alcohol consumption after I had left the Hanged Man.

"Is it the scar?" Hawke asks me suddenly.

The mention of it brings my eyes to the offending scar in question. The colour had faded from it many years ago, and it is now just a jagged line that runs down the side of her face, before jarring across her lips, and disappearing beneath her collar, pinching her skin tight where it trails.

I frown, not really understanding the question. "Is what the scar, Hawke?" I ask softly.

"Is it _that_ repulsive?"

I shake my head slowly; surprised that she would think such a thing about herself. All the years that I had known her, I had never once thought of the scar as repulsive. Intimidating to some; yes, but never repulsive. It was true that she would not fit in amongst the delicate lady's of court, but she has never had any desire to. It gave her something that was distinctively _Hawke._ Never before had she mentioned, nor hinted, that she was insecure about it. Not until now, I guess.

I walk slowly towards her, a small smile on my lips as I take in her beautiful blue eyes that watch me intently, one of her fingers gently touching the scar on the side of her face. Her hand suddenly drops, and she jumps off of the cot. There is a slight sway to her body as she lands, reminding me of her inebriation.

I am close enough now to see the thin sheen of sweat on her skin, and smell the alcohol on her breath. I reach out a hand to touch the scar.

But she is already pacing away from me, her previous concerns vanishing in favor of a new one as she tugs at her mage's robes.

"Are they not revealing enough? More leg maybe?" her head darts up to watch me, and the questioning tilt to her head is back. "Maybe if I get Orana to bring the waist in it might fit me nicer…"

Without meaning to, my eyes travel across her figure. I force my eyes to meet her own; frowning.

I feel a wry smile tug at my lips. "What makes you think that?" but before I can say anymore she is pacing again, pulling at her hair, as if willing it to gain more length.

"And I know it's not the most," she pauses, "_feminine_ hair cut, but I thought it looked _okay_, at the very least. Better than having it ripped out by some ill-wisher; I always thought. Having a patchy head would be worse, yes?"

Again, I shake my head, my frown deepening. Her insecurities are for naught; it is all of these things that make her beautiful. I open my mouth to tell her this.

Instead, "You've had too much to drink," is all I say.

She does not seem to hear me, and her pacing continues, her cheeks reddening as her footsteps grow faster and heavier in her annoyance.

Her voice is erratic, as if she wants to un-pile everything that is on her mind at once. "I know my skin is pale, of course I've noticed, there's only so much sun in Ferelden. But I always thought he liked that," she's frowning now, her hands still pulling at her hair roughly. "_Exotic_, or some such nonsense."

My heart drops instantly as it all falls into place. _He_? There is no question about whom she is referring to. She is here about the elf. It is always going to be about Fenris.

"Hawke," I cut into her rant with an ill suppressed sigh.

Her name seems to break the spell, her eyes snapping up once more to meet mine. She is frozen to the spot. This time I do not reach out a hand to her. She is here about the elf. Her thoughts are only ever for the elf.

Her eyes search my own, waiting for me to say something.

Unbidden, from somewhere hidden in my mind, I toy with a tempting thought. Why is she here with me, then, and not with _him_?

I swallow back a lump in my throat, licking my dry lips self-consciously.

My anger at Fenris for stealing her from me, at Hawke for forgetting about me, and at myself, for not fighting for her, all rushes out of me in that one question that my actions have resigned me to.

"What has Fenris done this time?" I don't mean for it to sound so harsh, but I can't keep the spite from my voice.

It's my fault that we're here today. If only I had told her that she mattered more to me than anything, after that wonderful kiss. But then, I feel Justice's growing anger at that thought. If only it could be true. Then, perhaps, we would not be as we were today, speaking of that damnable elf.

"_Who_," she states with a humorless smirk.

I frown, about to ask her what she means by this. Then I realise; it is not a statement, but a correction to my previous question. _**Who**__ did Fenris do this time? _

"Oh," is all I manage, stunned into silence.

I had not liked Fenris from the start; his blatant disregard for the troubles mages face every day, and his obnoxious hypocrisy, but I find this new piece of information surprising. He may be many things, but disloyal wasn't one of them. It was obvious to all that Fenris had found himself enthralled by Hawke's charms, despite his greatest efforts. The evidence was tied tightly around his wrist. Even now, years prior to their brief _relationship, _if you could even call it such a thing; the small red favour had remained. It had angered me at first, the mere idea of the two of them, but, despite my jealousy, I had come to think of his loyalty to Hawke as his single redeeming feature. Not that I would ever tell the elf this. It was a hard enough thing to admit to myself.

Now, he had nothing.

I didn't know what to say that would help, but that didn't seem to stop me from speaking.

"Idiot," the insult came unbidden from my own lips.

Bringing a hand up and leaning her head against it, she shook her head roughly.

"That I am," she agreed through a deep sigh.

Eye widening I wave my hands before myself defensively.

"No," I almost shout. It's more forceful than I had intended. I try again, this time in a friendlier tone. "No. Not you, Hawke. _He's _the idiot."

She looks up at me again, an eyebrow raised. Backing up, she lifts herself back onto the cot.

"I'm not? Then why, Anders, did I just waste the last few years of my life waiting for somebody that, it turns out, wasn't interested in making things work?" she arches an eyebrow at me. "Turns out he _was_ just interested in a one night stand. Figures." She chuckles. "Turns out Isabela and I are more alike than I'd thought."

"Hawke, I-" I still don't know what to say.

It was an ill kept secret that Fenris had left her after one brief night. It was also common knowledge amongst our circle that Hawke had forgiven him, patiently coaxing him back into the Hanged Man for casual drinks, and then, eventually, her home for reading lessons, of all things. To add insult to injury, Merrill had pointed out the new addition to his armour; the small Amell crest of her mother's lineage at his waist. At the time, I had wanted to beat him with the damn thing, thinking it a mockery of Hawke, a trophy that he had claimed for himself. Despite my boiling anger, I had not, upon noticing the look of lovesick hope in her strikingly blue eyes. The injustice of it all had left me angry with both Fenris for his selfishness, and Hawke for her ill-placed belief in the elf. For her, I had stayed my hand. I would be lying if I said it hadn't been easy to hold my tongue sometimes.

Now, all that anger came rushing back tenfold.

I wanted to tell her that I had warned her. That he had never cared for her, beyond what she could do for his selfish desires and needs. But Hawke did not need for me to tell her these things, she was already telling herself. She was already angry enough with herself.

Closing my eyes, I clenched my fists, releasing them slowly as I exhaled deeply. I open my eyes with a start at the sound of her suppressing a snort of laughter.

"What a great taste in men I have," she utters, shaking her head through a dry smile.

Her openness to the topic reminds me once more of all the alcohol she previously drank.

My face serious, I slowly approach her, crouching before her and placing a hand carefully atop her knee, gauging her for a response. She does not resist the contact. She does not even seem to take notice, still chuckling at her own _joke_.

With a mock sigh of wistfulness, she smiles. "Why isn't Varric interested in humans? I think we could make it work."

She tilts her head at me, as if waiting for my opinion on her and Varric. I can't help but smile. It is quick to disappear however, when she continues, her eyes leaving my own to evaluate the empty clinic.

"Instead, I go from a possessed Grey Warden who would never care about me more than the plight of mages, to an elf who, it turns out, was only interested in a one night stand. Not to mention he was probably subconsciously trying to replacing the gap Danarius had left in his life." She cringes as the words leave her mouth. She pauses for a moment, before rolling her eyes and continuing. "Again, _great_ taste in men." Her arms wave through the air emphatically as she mutters through a thin lipped smile.

My throat is suddenly very tight and I cough in an attempt to clear it, very uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. I loosen my surprisingly tight grip on her knee.

"Hawke," I start again.

I do care about you. More than you will ever know. That's why we could never be together.

She holds up a hand to silence me, the humorless smile still present.

"No, you don't need to say anything," she states, suddenly very sure of herself. "I think this is the kick in the arse that I needed. I can finally move on now that I know that I was just wasting my time. If I look hard enough, maybe I can find somebody in this damned city that doesn't glow. Yep, that's probably how I've been going about this the wrong way." She nods assuredly. "Somebody quiet. Somebody _normal._" I can't help but flinch at her words, but she does not seem to notice. She looks unabashedly into my eyes for the first time in a while. "Or is that being a little unrealistic when I live in Kirkwall?"

I suddenly, with a shock, realise that she is blinking rapidly, desperately trying to hold back the tears that threaten. For all her airs, and claims about moving on, I know that it will take her more than mere words to suddenly overcome the past few years that she had spent hoping.

She would, though. She was strong. The strongest person I knew. Far stronger than I could ever hope to be, I think bitterly as I look deep into her eyes.

Breathing through the tightness in my chest, I admit a small chuckle, squeezing her knee in reassurance.

"You're going to be fine, Hawke. You've got people who care about you," I reassure her. Eyes shining, she averts her gaze. "_I_ care about you." With a small smile, I tilt her chin up so that I can look her in the eyes. "Even if I may not be _normal_, in the strictest sense."

She smiles at that, and it makes my chest constrict painfully. "Not in _any_ sense, really," she whispers.

After a moment of silence she begins to shift uncomfortably, and I remove my hand from her knee. Without pause, she drops, none too gracefully, from the cot and absentmindedly dusts her leggings off. She offers me a hand to my feet, and I gratefully accept it, standing from my kneeling position.

Hastily, she drops her hand from my own, and I realise that I had been holding it tighter and longer than necessary.

"Sorry I bothered you, Anders," she suddenly states sheepishly, tilting her head back to observe the roof. "You're the last person I ever though I'd be talking to about _guy troubles_." She snorts.

Scratching at the back of my neck, I smirk. They were my sentiments exactly.

"Why _did_ you come to me?" I tease. "Aren't you chummy with Isabela when it comes to these kinds of things?"

I remember the mocking words Isabela had spoken to me many years ago, hinting that she knew all about my reasons for not pursuing a relationship with our leader, straight from the horse's mouth. I had avoided the pirate and her mocking words for quite some time after that day. That woman held nothing back.

I huff, "Or is she a little too grotesque for this sort of thing?"

The smile fades from her lips and she shakes her head. "No," she offers flatly. "She was too _busy_ to talk to me at the time."

That definitely sounds like Isabela.

"Had arrangements with a certain lithium infused elf, in fact." she finishes acidly.

My smile disappears in an instant; the previous humor of the situation dispersing far easier than it had been to obtain it moments before.

Of course…

Without another word I pull her in for a tight hug. She does not hug me back, rigid as she is, but she does not pull away, soon leaning against me for support. I place my hand on the back of her neck, and rest my chin on the top of her head, holding her tightly against me. She is warm, and for a brief instant I recall moments like this from almost a lifetime ago. Things had not been the same since I had told her that there would never be anything between us. That Justice would always demand the plight of the mages to come first. What had once been a regular occurrence, like this, did not happen anymore.

I almost wish she had not headed my warnings, however true they were. But then, I was a weak man.

I savor the moment, before feeling her tense once more. Ignoring the voice that tells me I am just picking at an old wound and I gently kiss the crown of her head.

She pulls away soon after, a determined look on her face.

The sudden loss of her body against mine hurts. Things should have been different. Things _could _have been different. But I had made my choice long ago. We had been doomed long before we had met, from the moment Justice and I had become one. I can no longer afford to be selfish. As much as I wish I could.

"Again, sorry to have bothered you, Anders, you've done me a huge favour," she offers after an uncomfortably long stretch of silence. Quietly, she adds, "Thank you."

And with that she turns to leave, the smile gone from her lips and a rigid set to her shoulders once more.

Finding my voice, I call to her desperately. "Where are you going, Hawke?" I push. She had never been one to truly think ahead when it came to her _plans_.

She does not falter, and does not face me as she answers.

"Fenris has something that belongs to me," she states simply. "And I intend to get it back. One way or another."

And then she is gone and I am alone once more.


	3. Hawke's Favour

Chapter 3 – Hawke's Favour

I had encountered no trouble on my hurried walk back to The Hanged Man from Darktown. I had been thankful for that much, at the time anyway. Now, standing before the tavern I frequented, I find that I almost hope this conversation had actually been postponed.

It would have given me more time to sorts through my conflicting emotions and thoughts more thoroughly. I had gone quickly from all intent, to angry, to just plain confused.

Sighing, I seize up the entrance. The Hanged Man was still busy, the lights and sounds that come from beneath the battered old door evidence enough of this.

I frown, suddenly very frustrated with myself. Damned if I was going to go weak in the knees and addle brained just because Fenris had shown an interest in somebody else.

It's been years, I tell myself as if this excuses him.

"This is just what I need to move on," I lie.

Decided, I offer a small resolute nod to myself. Growling, I storm towards the small door, pushing it open roughly and storming into the all too bright room. I raise a hand to my irritated eyes, squinting. Laughter and conversation bombarded me, and it takes a moment to regain my composure, the alcohol still very much in my system. Sneering, I survey the room as well as I can, searching for any recognizable faces.

When I see her, I don't know if I am relieved or apprehensive that she is available for a few choice words.

I decide to play it by ear, not knowing how I'll respond to her. Or her to me, for that matter. Everything is much easier that way. My steps are quick, but the previous anger has faded from them. I make my way towards the long length of the bar. I force myself to casually sit upon the empty stool beside her.

She knows I am back. I can tell from the sudden tightening of her grip on her drink.

"Isabela," I greet her curtly.

"He's already gone," she offers.

Her response is casually, offering me a dismissive wave of her hand, hinting at nothing that she might be thinking or feeling.

I can't help the thoughts that flash through my head at that, and bitterness creeps upon me. That sounds like Fenris; gets the job done, and then gets out of there.

A fine match; the free-living pirate and the ex-slave. Bitterness lines this thought, so strong I can almost taste it on my tongue.

Isabela has not looked up from the contents of her mug, so it is hard to gauge the sly rogue's reaction to my presence. I do, however, notice that the side of her mouth is curved upwards ever so slightly.

"So, what can I do you for, Hawke?" she queries nonchalantly.

Now she deems to look me in the eye. The glint in her eyes tells me that she's baiting me. That is not all I see, however. I am met with resolve, and I suddenly realise that she does not think she has done anything wrong.

True, she knew that I would be angry, she knows me well, and I think I too understand her well enough to see that she did not bed Fenris purely with the intent of hurting me. My reaction was merely a consequence that she had evaluated, and carried on in spite of. She did not view her actions as unforgivingly reprehensible.

"Typical Isabela," I find I am smiling despite myself.

This response, however, _does_ surprise her. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and the small smile fades from her lips for the barest of moment.

"Now, _that_ is not what I was expecting," she admits through a bout of laughter.

She takes another mouthful of whatever brown liquid sloshes in her mug, watching me intently over the rim as she drinks.

I had not expected to respond to her like this, either. I knew that she would not fall before my feet begging for forgiveness. But she had known that I had still harbored feelings for Fenris. She had known that I had hoped that he would some day be ready for something more, _anything_ more. By the Fade, everyone knew. Even _I_ knew it was obvious, yet she had still sought out his intimate company.

"What _were_ you expecting, Isabela?" I press, raising a brow.

Despite myself, I feel my anger towards the pirate dissipating with my every word.

Isabela shrugs, smirking as she thuds the mug roughly upon the bar top. She motions towards the barkeep, her hand raised above her head, and two more drinks quickly slide across the table in our direction.

"Honestly?" she smiles, "I thought you would come in here, staff a-swinging, demanding my head. Okay, maybe not that extreme. But I did not expect to see you for quiet some time." She pauses, as if deeply considering her next words. "I am glad to see that I was wrong."

We drink in silence for some time. Isabela casually leaning against the bar, observing a group of guards men that are laughing wildly as they play a friendly game of cards a table over from us. It is only when she finishes the next drink, well before me, that she speaks again. She continues to watch the game unfold as the words spill from her mouth.

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry," she states suddenly, point-blank.

My grip on the mug tightens. Momentarily, I feel the raw anger from before rise up within me. I might have forgiven her for this, but that didn't mean that I had to like it. At all.

Besides, she was supposed to be my friend. She knew how I felt. How dare she not feel sorry for having caused me pain? Almost as fast as it comes, though, the anger passes once more. This is my friend. She has never lied about who and what she is. Could I really fault her for doing what made her happy? And who was I to talk down at her? I certainly wasn't perfect. Why should I expect others to be?

I huff in amusement at that last thought, and I notice Isabela look at me curiously from the corner of her eye. I hide my smirk in my mug of ale for a moment, finishing the last of the bitter liquid.

"I didn't expect you to say you are," I finally manage, surprised to find it is the truth.

She smiles wholeheartedly at me then, before raising a hand. "Another round for myself and the merciful Lady Hawke. On me," she calls to the bar keep.

I laugh at the wink she sends me, and based off the warm feeling in my cheeks I know I should decline.

I know I should. But I don't.

"Why not?" I say through an easy laugh. "One more won't hurt."

She snorts. "Famous last words, Hawke?"

"I certainly hope not. I have an elf that needs a good talking to." I overbalance slightly and almost slip from the stool. "An elf that I need to speak to _tomorrow_. That last drink seems to have gone straight to my head."

The barkeep tops up our mugs with an ill suppressed sigh. I frown at that, but Isabela dismisses his dissatisfaction effortlessly.

"To Hawke," she calls, raising her mug high above her head with a chuckle, "for not gutting me. Thank the Maker for small favours, and all that."

"Here, here," I clink her mug with my own, liquid sloshing over the rim.

Isabela passes the barkeep a bulging drawstring purse. One, I note, that looks suspiciously like my own. "Keep 'em coming, till we drop," she orders.

Shaking my head, I admit a small chuckle.

I'd intended to be mad with her, I really had. Regardless, there were some sleeping bears that I refused to let lay, no matter what. Especially when that bear had lain with someone that they hadn't been wearing the favour of for almost three years now.

I still felt the fool after having waited so long for something that apparently wasn't going to happen, and I intended to let Fenris know that I was done. I was finished with waiting, and I was finished with him. Only then would I be able to move beyond this. Otherwise this all felt far too inconclusive. I needed it all to end so I could move on to significantly less _glow-y_ things.

At the moment, however, the room was swimming wonderfully before my eyes, and the sound of Isabela's carefree laughter was ringing in my ears.

Tomorrow I can find the closure I need.

Tonight, though? Tonight, I will enjoy the alcohol that I suspect I was unwittingly paying for, and then sleep wherever I fall, all the whilst knowing that the first words out of my mouth when I wake up will be 'I'm never drinking again'.

And then, tomorrow, I will rip that damn favour from Fenris' arm.


End file.
